


Reconciliation

by LaLimonata



Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: F/M, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLimonata/pseuds/LaLimonata
Summary: Oneshot of a late night convo.





	Reconciliation

**Author's Note:**

> Took a break from my tomione to write this, hope you enjoy this sweet thing!

It was impossible for John to sleep as his mind raced through the events of the day; Margaret challenging him to protect the Irish, and then the insults and rage of the rioters and then the way she looked like an angel come to protect him. Her arms had been thrown around his neck, how he had struggled not to take hold of her waist; it was heaven being close to her. And then all too soon it was over. He saw the bleeding wound in his mind’s eye and bit his fist in anguish. He had practically thrown himself at the mercy of the mob before gathering up his lovely angel in his arms. He’d whispered sweet nothings to her about how much he loved her, cradling her close to his chest. The next part was a blur, he could think of nothing but her, prostrate on the stone steps. He had had to meet the other mill owners and then the police and then the Irish and Father Michael. He had spent the day longing for her, longing to know she was well.

She was now a mere few metres from him in the room opposite his, the room preserved for his wife. He wished that she would be a permanent fixture there one day. He sat down on the edge of the bed. How could he ask her now though? Her parents had been made aware of the blow, the doctor thought it best not to move her, worst of all his mother’s watchful eyes. She had seemed so disapproving as she related that all the servants had seen and knew what must be done. He had to ask her.

The silence was broken by the sound of a door creaking open. John looked up sharply. It was long past a decent hour. Quickly, he went to the door, opening it to find his angel, dressed only in a nightgown.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Margaret had woken up groggy, not she thought too unexpected for having a blow to the head from a rock. She vaguely remembered seeing a doctor. He had insisted she stay put, no matter how much she protested. She had far more serious accidents playing with Frederick, much to her Mama’s despair. Groaning, she sat up, her hand at her head to steady her.

She remembered being put to bed, peering at the nightgown she was wearing. It must be Fanny’s, she thought, allowing herself a small giggle at the image of Mrs Thornton in such a thing, with so many frills and bows and other fripperies. 

Hunger led her out of bed. It was harder to creep around a house she was unfamiliar with, and also when she still felt quite dizzy. How Fred would have laughed at her now. Wincing as the door creaked open, she stepped into the hallway. A few seconds were spent holding her breath, waiting for a sound and for some of her dizziness to pass. At long last she exhaled, just as the door in front of her opened to reveal Mr Thornton, much more formally attired than she. She blushed as she realised how improper this was, the second instance of impropriety with this man within one day. Yet part of her brain was occupied with his neck, exposed by his lack of cravat and his undone buttons. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and her mouth felt curiously dry.

She drew herself up, as if she were greeting him at home, “Mr Thornton,” she whispered.

“Miss Hale, are you doing well? Why are you out of bed?”

“I confess I find myself rather hungry, and a little cold. The fire in my room is dead I think.”

He looked at her with inscrutable eyes and she turned a faint shade of pink. She was hungry but it was certainly not normal for a houseguest to go wondering about at night in search of a kitchen or a pantry. Perhaps her brain was rather more addled than she feared. For his part, John was resisting the urge to take her into his arms and warm her himself. Instead he headed back into his room, leaving her puzzled in the hallway at what she should do next.

“Here,” he said, wrapping his own dressing gown around her and leading her back into her room. He seated her by the fire, brushing off her thanks before inquiring what she would like to eat. He rebuilt the flame as she replied.

“Perhaps some bread and cold cuts? And water. Simple fares to settle my stomach.”

He flashed her one of his rare smiles before leaving her alone in the glow of the flame. She reflected that this must be one of the few times that they had not argued. She had simply let him take care of her. Somewhat perturbed, she wrapped the dressing gown more closely around herself and inhaled his scent. For some reason the heady mix of soap and machinery and musk made her head spin and she hardly noticed when he came back. She took comfort in his smell too and she wondered what it could all mean.

He sat opposite her, offering her a plate with bread and ham and cheese. But she paid more attention to the way his muscles flexed, his sleeves rolled up.

 

John pondered what could have made her drop her gaze and start eating. There was a faint blush on her cheeks, and he dared not look and see if it went any lower than her face. He hastily reined in that train of thought, shifting imperceptibly in his seat. Should he ask if she felt better or simply take his leave? It was so very inappropriate with her wearing so little: he stood.

“I should leave,” he said, swallowing hard.

“Please don’t!”

Her swift response surprised them both.

“That is, I mean, I’m a little scared,” she explained shamefully. “I cannot bear to be alone in the dark especially in an unfamiliar house.”

“Yet you ventured out into the corridor?” he questioned, smirking a little. For someone so haughty, so intelligent as she to be afraid of the dark. Perhaps it was him she had to fear, every passing second made his control slip a little more.

“I know it is silly –”

He leant close to interrupt her, “Don’t be scared, love.”

The way he said ‘love’ sent shivers down her spine. He kissed her cheek, just brushing his lips before sitting back down looking as though he might eat her. Maybe she was too hasty in asking him to stay. Or maybe he thought he could take whatever liberties he liked with her simple because she would likely be forced to marry him.

“You cannot do whatever you like with me! We are not married, and we are not engaged,” she hissed at him. She had heard stories of less than reputable men. Her eyes, wild with fear, closely followed his every movement. Confused, she watched his face fall and some of his confidence deflate.

“I would never impose on you Miss Hale. I am tired, and I thought perhaps, that you – that is to say. I have never found myself with such feelings before and I know that in your eyes at least I am not a gentleman. I simply thought – well I – your hasty plea for me to stay and your actions implied that we might share similar feelings.”

“Similar feelings?” she said, tentatively.

“That you might – that I – I love you. I wished to ask for your hand. That is that you might love me.”

He seemed so vulnerable. His normal confidence knocked out of him by this declaration and the bitterness in his voice as he mentioned not being a gentleman made her heart stutter over his words. 

“I had not thought, that you liked me,” she said, a little shocked, “I’m sure that you cannot and that you are simply trying to make this proposal born of impropriety easier.”

He growled at that and stood. He pulled her up from her chair and grabbed her by the waist before searching her eyes for something. He seemed to find the implicit permission he was looking for and kissed her firmly on the mouth. He held her face in one hand, bringing their foreheads together.

“I love you. I want to marry you because you are the most intelligent, selfless, beautiful woman I have ever known. I want you to be mine and me to be yours. I want your heart and your soul and your mind. I never want to tame your spirit, for it sets my blood astir.”

He pressed one last kiss to her forehead before releasing her.

“That is of course, if you desire to be my wife.”

His deep voice vibrated through her chest sending shivers throughout her body and heat curling deliciously in her abdomen. She wanted more of his touch, his frantic kisses as though she were his air. She wanted his poetic words. She felt ashamed at how much she wanted his body to cover hers. But more than all that she wanted his rare smiles, his debates, to simply listen to him talk and see him happy.

He turned away, sighing, readying himself to leave.

“Yes.”

It was so quiet he barely heard it the first time.

“What did you say?”

His large frame stood perfectly still in the semi-darkness, tensed and awaiting her response. She came up behind him, wrapping her arms about his midsection before saying again, gently,

“Yes.”


End file.
